Red Carpet Kisses
by Sela McGrane
Summary: A whimper escaped her lips as he took a step back. Lucius made a slight bow, grey eyes meeting her chocolate ones. "Good evening...Hermione," he said softly. And then with a quick turn, he apparated away, leaving her standing there in stunned silence. - LM/HG


**This is not my usual pairing by a long shot in the underworld, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I'm trying to stretch myself as a writer, which means picking different sorts of characters to explore. Hope you enjoy. :)**

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"Why, Miss Granger," Lucius Malfoy drawled. "You could almost pass as a pureblood tonight, looking like that."

Hermione Granger, aged twenty three, shifted her gaze from the crowd of the Ministry Gala to the stately form of the father of her former school nemesis. "Mr. Malfoy," she greeted. "Azkaban seems to have done your manners some good."

The blond aristocrat looked surprisingly well for a man who'd been locked away in the wizarding prison for the last three and a half years. It was general consensus that he ought to have been left there to rot indefinitely, but wizarding society and politics being what they were, he'd been let out two months ago on good behavior, and if Hermione was to guess, a substantial bail amount.

"Perhaps the time away simply gave me a change of heart," Lucius suggested.

"If that change of heart is meaning that you got one," Hermione said, "then I suppose you're right."

"So bitter, Miss Granger," the Lord of House Malfoy tutted. "I know that our last encounter probably contributed to that; what can I do to make up for that...unfortunate meeting with my sister-in-law? I see that you are without a partner for the evening. Perhaps a dance, to start with?"

Hermione nearly laughed in his face, certain he was joking. A man like that would never be caught dead dancing with a girl like her. Then, she saw the expression on his face was quite serious, and dare she imagine, but he seemed sincere in his remorse. "I...well...alright then, Mr. Malfoy."

"Lucius," the tall man corrected softly as he took her arm and led her onto the dance floor.

"And Mrs. Malfoy won't mind?" Hermione asked, not interested in bringing the wrath of a Death Eater's wife upon herself. Why had she just agreed to dance with a Death Eater, anyway?

"She elected not to come this evening," Lucius responded as he continued to guide her into an easy Waltz. "On that note, what of Mr. Weasley? I am well aware how he and his family feel about me and mine."

"Ron and I parted ways some time ago," the young brunette admitted. "Though even if we were still together, what does it matter? It's not as if there's anything...sordid going on. We're only dancing."

"Only dancing," the blond man agreed. "Though if the band plays music for the Tango...I'll not be held responsible if we happen to no longer be only dancing."

Hermione stared at her dance partner, almost tripping over her own feet at his startling remark. "Are...are you flirting with me, Mr. Malfoy?"

Aristocratic features remained fixed, though the young witch thought she saw a light of amusement flicker in his eyes. "It would be highly inappropriate if I were. I am a married man, after all."

"Of course," Hermione replied, lowering her gaze, and mentally rebuking herself for the feeling of rejection she felt coursing through her. It's not like she wanted him to look at her like that. Why did she care if he liked her or not? He was a Death Eater! She was... she was… muggleborn.

They danced for another few minutes in silence, before Hermione muttered an excuse and pulled away, making for a balcony that appeared to be both deserted and out of sight. She really must be pathetic, if she was so desperate for affection that she would welcome an advance from a Death Eater… not to mention a married one. Not that it had been an advance, so the point was moot.

"That was rude, to leave me mid dance."

Hermione's solitude was short lived, as to her surprise, Lucius followed her out. "What do you want, Mr. Malfoy?"

"You."

She turned sharply to face the Slytherin, only to find him already close enough to touch again. "What?" she whispered, suddenly fearful.

"I had a lot of time to think, in Azkaban," he said, pressing his body slightly against her.

She found that she couldn't move, as her back was to a wall, and for some ungodly reason, even her fear of this beautiful devil of a man couldn't make her want to. "About?" she asked, shivering as his hand ghosted along her jawline.

"About how seeing you fight, at my Manor, was the most beautiful thing I'd ever witnessed," he whispered. "It's what kept me sane - the memory of you - these last three years. It was all that kept me sane. Not the thought of Narcissa, or Draco, or even freedom allowed me a moment of peace in that hell hole. Just the memory of your grace under such unimaginable pressure. So… thank you."

With that, he leaned forward and pressed his lips gently against hers, tipping her chin up with his fingertips. He ran his other hand down her bare back; her red dress had a low front and a lower back, and the swell of her breasts pressed into his chest as her arousal urged her to pull him closer.

The kiss ended sooner than she'd have liked, though she knew it had already lasted longer than it should have. It shouldn't have happened at all, really. But Merlin, that man could kiss. A whimper escaped her lips as he took a step back. Lucius made a slight bow, grey eyes meeting her chocolate ones. "Good evening...Hermione," he said softly. And then with a quick turn, he apparated away, leaving her standing there in stunned silence.

* * *

It was a year to the day before Hermione spoke to Lucius Malfoy again. Once more, it was at the Ministry's annual Gala, though she was surprised when he approached her. She'd seen the man, in passing, over the last twelve months, but he'd not so much as nodded to her in acknowledgment on those few occasions. He'd acted as if nothing had happened between them, and Hermione had all but convinced herself that Lucius really was a lying bastard - she'd never known him to be anything else, after all. He must have just seen her, and decided that he liked the challenge of seducing her. The story about how it was the thought of her that kept him going in Azkaban was a load of rubbish!

And then, there he was again. "Slytherin colors suit you well, Miss Granger," Lucius said, approaching where she was seated at the bar. "And again, I notice you are without a date for the evening."

"No," she said preemptively. She was not going to dance with him again. No bloody way.

"No?" he asked, smirking slightly.

"I'll not dance with you, if that's where you were going," Hermione stated firmly, glaring at hi. Not after what happened last time."

"You seemed to enjoy...last time," he said with a surprisingly boyish grin.

"And you seemed to have thought very little of it," she responded. "As it took you a year to so much as say a single word to me again."

Lucius frowned. "When did you suppose I was to approach you, Hermione?" he inquired. "In Diagon Alley, surrounded by witnesses? In the presence of my wife? My son? My pureblood associates who think a woman such as you deserves to die? Was I supposed to Owl you? Suggest we meet in some secluded pub?"

"I...I…" Hermione's anger at the man faltered. She did see his reasoning, whether or not she liked it. Besides, what would have been the point? She didn't want to be his mistress! "You're right," she mumbled.

"Dance with me?" he asked softly. "I've looked forward to this event all year - the one place and time it's expected that I should mingle with someone I once considered an enemy."

Hermione shivered. His plea sounded so sincere, and even after three-hundred and sixty five days, she could not forget that kiss. "The dance I'd most like is one unsuited for the public eye," she whispered. For some reason, her resolve about how she did not want this man in any way, shape, or form shattered when he was so near to her that she could feel the heat of his breath.

"You know I can't be…" Lucius began, looking decidedly ashamed of himself.

"I know," she whispered. "It's what you can be that I'm interested in. Even if it's only for one night."

"What can I be, Hermione?"

"You can be Lucius," the young woman replied, subtly reaching out and touching his knee as they sat at the bar together. "Not Mr. Malfoy. Not a Pureblood. Not an agent of Voldemort. Not someone's husband. Not my classmate's father. Just...Lucius, the man."

A look over overwhelming desire shone in the blond man's steely grey eyes. "Somewhere safe?" he managed to choke out.

"My flat," she offered, startled at how easy it was, asking this man - her enemy - to come home with her. She knew what would happen if he agreed. She knew that she'd just offered to become Lucius Malfoy's mistress. She knew that it was so bloody wrong, and that Harry, Ron, and Ginny would murder her if they ever found out - but she didn't care.

"Ninety minutes," he agreed after a short pause. "If you truly know what you're asking of me, what I can and cannot give you, then meet me on that balcony in ninety minutes. If you are not there, I shall dismiss this conversation as a wild, beautiful dream, and we'll never speak of it again. You have that long to reconsider."

With that said, Lucius graceful stepped off his barstool and strode away with a look of pureblood arrogance on his face that Hermione would typically associate with the man. She realized then just how good of an actor he was, though she wasn't sure which side of the blond aristocrat was the real one. Did he mean woo her into a puddle of desire and then walk away like it was nothing, or had he been honest in his comments about waiting all year for another chance to see her? Did three years in Azkaban make Lucius Malfoy fall in love with someone who was nearly a stranger to him? A man like him, Hermione knew for sure, would not take an act so far as to incriminate himself if it wasn't driven by the unreasonable calls of love.

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